


Rapid Seduction for No-Nonsense Noblewomen

by mehramilo



Series: Rapid Seduction [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Bad Flirting, F/M, Romantic Fluff, Satire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 12:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3649599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mehramilo/pseuds/mehramilo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabela needs help with acquiring some coin; Hawke needs help with seducing an apostate. Both turn to the experts at a certain sordid publication for assistance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rapid Seduction for No-Nonsense Noblewomen

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to a prompt: "Isabela runs a blog/writes for a magazine/whatever. What's this blog/column about? Sex and flirting tips, of course - this is Isabela! The thing is, Isabela doesn't necessarily run her column/blog seriously. Instead, she writes really, really awful advice that only sounds like it should be work/be true - think like Cosmo stuff. It was meant to be humorous, which means that obviously someone had to take it seriously by mistake. 
> 
> Here's where Hawke comes in - poor, lonely, romantically inept Hawke. One day, while browsing the internet/magazines in line at the supermarket/daily newspaper/anything, Hawke discovers Isabela's tips - and thinks they're serious. Hawke, who's been wanting a relationship, decides to try them out - with hilarious results."

“Time for another,” Isabela called as she elbowed her way up to the bar. Varric sidled up behind her in her wake. “Barkeep, another round, and put it on my tab.”

The barkeep glanced up from wiping down a chipped mug, rolled his eyes, then returned to his work.

“I should’ve known better than to think I’d actually get something from you for free,” Varric said with a shake of his head.

Isabela flashed a smirk at him in return. “Oh, you’ll get your drink. I just haven’t asked nicely yet.” She leaned against the bar top, tucking her elbows in to press the swell of her breasts just over the edge of the counter. “Corff.” He was looking, and not at her eyes. Good. “Bring me another.” She beckoned at him, curling her fingers in a manner that conveyed both “bring on the ale” and “I’ll do this to your balls if you’re a good boy.”

Corff lingered and stared for a moment before shaking his head as if waking from a dream. “I’ve told you, no. You’ve carried a tab here for over a year without showing a single bit—of _coin_ ,” he added quickly, as Isabela’s fingers found the laces of her bodice. “Times've been tight enough as it is; I can’t keep this up. Pay it down first and then we can talk.”

“Oh, Corff, my ravishing, indomitable, utterly _insatiable_ Corff—”

“I said no.”

“Oh, well, bugger you too.” Isabela whirled from the bar, her fists balled at her side.

“I had to elbow so many people in the ass to follow you over here,” Varric groused as he followed her back through the crowd to their table, “and I haven’t got a thing to show for it.”

Isabela rolled her eyes, then swiped a freshly delivered mug from the edge of a stranger’s table as she passed, hiding the theft behind a swish of her hips. “Here, a drink on me.” She shoved it into Varric’s hands then flopped unceremoniously at their table.

“Well, it’s better than nothing.” Varric tipped the mug towards her in a toast as he took his seat, then tossed his head back for a deep swig. He dragged the sleeve of his coat across his lips and added, “So you’re a bit short on coin, I take it. How’re you going to pay back a tab like that?”

“I have no idea, but I can’t go on like this forever. No boat, no booze—I might as well be dead.” She eyed Varric enviously as he chugged. “I’ll have to think of something.”

 

***

 

 _[Drafts from_ The Randy Dowager Quarterly, _discovered under a loose floorboard during the restoration of the Kirkwall Municipal Archives. Transcribed by Brother Everly in service of an anonymous Orlesian patron.]_

**_IS YOUR SWORD FLOPPY?_ **

_Turn that Crooked Staff into Dragonbone with Magister Irian’s ANCIENT TEVINTER SECRET. Distilled from lyrium-infused Bronto tusk collected by virgin dwarfs under the High Reaches, this tonic is guaranteed to put the lust back in your little demon. Supplies are limited - DO NOT WAIT!_

**_44_ ** **_TRICKS FOR ALLURING APOSTATES THAT WILL BLOW HIS MIND_ **

  *         _After taking him in your mouth, cast Pull of the Abyss. The added suction will drive him wild!_
  *         _Trace the translation of the Canticle of Threnodies into runic script with your finger on his his most private parts. By the time you’re through, he’ll be thanking the Maker!_
  *         _Meeting for a quick tryst during the workday? Fade Step will give you the extra zip you need to make time for round two—or twenty!_



_[The list of feats goes on for some pages, culminating in a position entitled “Dumat’s Knot,” the description of which has been redacted due to public health concerns.]_

 

***

 

“No, sorry, I don’t know of anything.”

“Oh, come on,” Isabela pleaded, trailing behind Viveka as she pushed her broom about the tables in the Blooming Rose. “You’re the eyes and ears at this place—and the loveliest of the lot, if I might add. Surely, you’ve heard of _something_ that pays well.”

Viveka paused her sweeping and heaved a sigh. “Unless you’re willing to be part of the merchandise—and that’s not even my decision—then no, I’m sorry.”

“You’re looking for work?” A nearby elf perched atop the lap of a scraggy dockworker piped up.

“I can think of a job you could perform,” the man added, baring a row of gray teeth in a ghoulish smile. “Both of you, at once.”

“Would it include dunking you off the end of a pier for your yearly bath?” Isabela said, fingering the hilts of her daggers. “Because I would be glad to.”

“I’ll get us some drinks, honey,” the elf said, sliding his hand from the front of her bodice and extricating herself from his lap. He scowled at Isabela over the girl’s shoulder, then grumbled, “Make it another whiskey.”

“You know of something?” Isabela asked, following the elf’s swaying hips to the bar.

“I get a variety of customers.” She made a series of hand signals to the bartender; he began mixing two drinks on ice. “I had a dwarf from the printer’s guild through the other day. Those fliers all over town? That’s them. Some big machine that presses the pages—I dunno how he said it works. But they’re looking for material.”

“’Material?’ I know sailing and ropes, not books. They’re the first to go overboard when your ship’s overladen.” She smiled and touched the girl’s sharp shoulder. “But I’m flattered that you thought of me.”

She glanced at the hand on her shoulder. “Katriela. I’m Katriela. But it isn’t books,” she said, shrugging off Isabela’s hand and collecting the bartender’s drinks to arrange them on a serving tray. “Some dirty pamphlets for bored noblewomen or something. Tips on how to keep a straying husband interested—that sort of thing. He thought I’d be a good source, but—” she scoffed as she hoisted the tray to her shoulder “—a true professional doesn’t publish her trade secrets. They’re what keep those bored husbands straying to _me_.”

Isabela grinned. “This just might be within my area of expertise, after all. Where’s the contact?”

“Lowtown. A guy named Kagal.” Katriela turned to carry the drinks back to the table and her waiting consort. “Oh, and tell him I sent you,” she added over her shoulder, “so he leaves me a better tip next time.”

 

***

 

**_POSSESSED BY A SEX DEMON?_ **

The Randy Dowager _seeks first-hand accounts of sensual demonic dalliance. Share your story: Contact us by courier at 15 Foundry Way, Lowtown, Kirkwall. Will pay for titillating tales of fraternization in the Fade._

**_READER MAIL_ **

_A weary recruit in Orlais writes: “I never thought it would happen to me. How could a modest, average merchant such as myself ever acquire a woman as sensual and voluptuous as the beauties that grace your pages? Well, one day, I was plying my honest trade when I was approached by a gorgeous blond with an ample bosom who informed me that I was to be conscripted into the Wardens. Imagine my surprise when she didn’t even ask my name before stripping off her breastplate! It turns out this “Joining” ritual we hear so many rumors about is actually an orgiastic trial of endurance between male and female recruits. Normally, newcomers must serve for three years before being submitted for promotion, but she informed me, between toe-curling screams of ecstasy, that I had passed muster and would be made Commander immediately. No wonder these Warden rites are such a closely kept secret!”_

**_THE LADY HERSELF ADDS_ ** _: Now we know why our new Warden king and queen seem so fond of each other._

 

***

 

"Well, you’re not exactly what I expected.” Kagal was a burly, stocky dwarf, arms rippled with veins and muscle from working the press all day. She had expected some romantic poet sort, with his hair slicked back and shirt open to waist like Varric. Instead, he wore a tunic sodden with sweat and a beard as frazzled as a bramble bush.

“And what did you expect?” Kagal let rip a series of grunts like a Bronto in heat as he threw his weight back against the printer’s puller arm.

Isabela arched an eyebrow at him and said, “Oh, I don’t know—a bit less odor, maybe,” but he didn’t seem to notice. He pulled the platen from the machine and peeled the parchment from the frame with a sticky rip to display rows of glistening ink.

“Latest edition, fresh off the press. That’ll curl your toes,” he said, handing the sheet off to Isabela and toddering off into a stack of crates to retrieve another sheaf of parchment.

“‘I’ll venture into the darkest pits of your Deep Roads,’ the rogue Grey Warden proclaimed,” Isabela recited aloud from the sheet, careful not to smudge the drying words under her fingers. “‘Oh, lover,’ the maiden dwarf cried, ‘one last kiss before you face the Taint!’” She rolled her eyes but smothered her disdain in a smile as Kagal returned, lugging a stack of paper.

“Great stuff, isn’t it?” he said, unwinding the lever and fitting another sheet under the press.

“Oh, positively titillating,” Isabela lied.

“I write it myself.” Kagal jabbed a thumb to his chest proudly. “But my stuff’s gotten way too popular for me to keep up, being the only game in town.”

“It’s a large hole that needs _filling_ , you’d say?”

Kagal paused his work to stare at her, his brows lowering in confusion. “Yeah, I just said.”

Isabela cleared her throat awkwardly. “Right, never mind. So you have some work?”

“I do.” Kagal scratched under his chin and left a swipe of ink in the ruddy curls. “It seems this stuff’s hot with the ladies. I never imagined—well, I suppose _you_ might get it, being one and all. You’ve got the inside information that I need—I mean, not that I’m not well-versed in _dwarven_ women,” he added quickly.

“Naturally.”

“But it’s these human noblewomen. They’re bored; they’re clamoring for tricks and games to play behind their palace doors. They want excitement and new experiences.” He dragged an arm across his forehead, smearing sweat across his temples. “A dwarf of my age just isn’t in any condition to be throwing out newfangled ideas. That’s where you—” he poked a finger at Isabela and flicked a drop of ink onto the front of her bodice “—come in. I was thinking a weekly pamphlet of sorts. You’d give ‘em advice or think up new tricks for ‘em to try: Tickle-My-Nug, Chantry play, licking elbows or ankles or—well, whatever, I’d pay you to be the creative one. Just something to spice things up a bit.”

“A month at sea with nothing but my first mate, a larder full of codfish, and a shipment of Orlesian hats made me a very creative woman in the bedroom, Kagal,” Isabela said. “Give me the coin and all of Kirkwall’s nobility will be walking bandy legged for weeks.” She thrust out her hand for him to shake.

He took her hand in his ink-stained one, gave it one sharp thrust, and said, “Deal.”

 

***

**_SCALLYWAGS AND SIRENS IV: CHAPTER XIX_ **

****

_“Avast! It is I, Captain Fen de Ris, who has boarded your ship. Surely you have heard of me, for I am notorious.”_

_“Captain de Ris?” the pirate queen cried seductively. “Alas, my ill fortune!”_

_“Alas indeed, for I am here to plunder all of your booty!”_

_“Please, messere, grant me but one last boon,” the lusty wench begged, breasts heaving perkily. “I am on my way to rescue my crew. From the way the sun is glinting off of your bare pectorals, I can see that the day is nearly through, and I am almost out of time. I should let you plunder more than just my booty if you would help me save my crew.”_

_“I have many faults (including not getting obvious jokes or leaving right after sex), but resisting seductive sirens such as yourself is not one of them,” Fen de Ris growled manfully as he pulled her close against his well formed chest. “You shall have your crew.”_

_The pirate queen stripped her blouse from her breasts as easily as one would peel an overripe banana, swooning in Fen de Ris’ arms as he pulled off her bandanna and tangled his fingers in her long ebony locks. [An editor’s note has been scribbled in the margin: “Where did this come from? I thought the heroine was a Qunari.”]_

 

***

 

“If I’m not mistaken, that’s a manuscript.”

Isabela jumped and frantically tried to scoop her writing supplies off the table as Varric climbed into the seat opposite.

“It’s nothing,” she said, breathing a curse as she overturned a pot of ink onto the floor and watched it spiral away under a table on the opposite end of the bar. She scuffed her foot onto the wet ink patches on the floor until they started to blend into the old blood stains.

“You can’t fool a _renowned_ author such as myself,” Varric said, nodding at the nearest parchment. “That’s something to be published. What is it?”

“A - a memoir.” She cursed herself for forgetting to bring some sand with her to toss across the wet ink so that it could be quickly dried, rolled, and hidden away. Instead, she curled her hands around the edges of the page to try to hide the lines from Varric. “You know, pirate’s life and sea shanties and all that.”

“I see no shanties. In fact—” Varric nipped one of the parchments out from under her grasp and unfurled it before him. “I’ll bet there’s not a single ‘yo ho ho’ in this.”

“ _Give that back_!” Isabela sent her chair flying behind her as she lunged across the table, reaching for the page, but Varric ducked out of her grasp. A drunkard at a nearby table glanced up at the commotion, but, upon seeing no blood or gore, turned back to his drink.

“‘The—’ Varric attempted to read the curling script across the top of the page but broke off into a hearty guffaw.

Isabela righted her chair and sank into it until her face was buried in her arms on the tabletop, cheeks aflame. “I’ll murder you.”

“‘The—’” Varric started again only to dissolve into laughter again. He cleared his throat and started anew in a stately voice: “‘The Randy Dowager Quarterly.’” He peered at her over the top of the parchment. “I’ve seen these lining the gutters in Hightown. You mean to tell me—” he chortled again “—this is you?”

Isabela sat upright, massaging her temples. “Yes, yes, all right, it’s me. Listen, I needed the coin, and it was a paying job.”

“Of course, of course, we writers all have to start _somewhere_. Though, outright smut?” He tsked.

“Wait a minute, didn’t the latest installment of _Hard in Hightown_ have a five-page sex scene in it?”

“It was a tastefully done romantic interlude that provided deep insight into the characters and vital advancement of the plot,” Varric said with a sniff. “Besides, this—” He scanned the page, then began to read aloud: “‘For him: Try imagining you are a burly ogre and ravage her with your throbbing monsterhood.’” His eyebrows raised until they nearly touched his hairline. “‘For her: Pretend you are a Genlock. Lie back and slobber wildly’—oh, Isabela, this is terrible, even for you.”

“I know!” she exclaimed, beating her fists upon the tabletop. “I know, all right? Writing about it is so much different than just _doing_ it. It’s like trying to write down how to stand aboard a ship: You don’t follow steps, you just _feel_ it in your hips. And without alcohol, I feel like my creative muse is dead.” She shot a longing gaze over at the bar. “Besides, you have no idea how difficult it is coming up with new things to write each week. I’ve run out of nouns and orifices. These nobility, they’re bored of _everything_. It’s as if they’re too high and mighty for a plain old cock and balls anymore.”

“Perish the thought.” Varric floated the parchment back across the table to her. “Well, if it makes coin….”

“Hardly,” Isabela said, tucking the page back into the stack. “In fact, I don’t think I’ll bother much longer. I meant to turn in a final column this week to pay Corff a bit of what I owe, but I don’t even have a draft. I’ve completely run out of ideas; I can’t even write utter bullshit anymore.”

“Wouldn’t you know, you happen to be speaking to a veritable expert in bullshit.”

Isabela arched an eyebrow at him.

“Well, you have to give your column a proper send-off, don’t you?” He grinned.

Isabela felt the corner of her mouth quirking up in a smirk despite herself. “All right, one last go.” She pulled out a blank parchment and dipped her quill in the ink pot. “Help me with this and I’ll use the profits to buy you that drink I promised.”

“You’re on.” Varric crackled his knuckles. “Now, Aveline said some things when she got drunk during our last game of Wicked Grace that would make for a _fantastic_ expose….”

 

***

 

**_RAPID SEDUCTION FOR NO-NONSENSE NOBLEWOMEN_ **

_The Randy Dowager knows that it can be wearisome waiting for the strapping suitor in your life to make a move. Pinch your cheeks and hike up your crinoline, for it’s time to quit beating around the bush and dive right in! Use the following Dowager-approved lines on your beau to inflame his undying passion. (WARNING: The Dowager cannot be held liable for the physical repercussions suffered as a result of the paroxysms of lust evoked by these lines!)_

  *         _Is it hot in here, or have I a case of the plague again?_
  *         _Are you a Desire Demon? For you make me want to leave all my earthly responsibilities to molder while I spend an eternity in your embrace in the Fade._
  *         _Perhaps thou hast a notion to mount mine posterior in such a manner as the Mabari are accustomed?_
  *         _I should like to be more than just your Sister in the Chantry._
  *         _Are you on your way home from the Hanged Man? Because you’re positively filthy._
  *         _You must be a member of the Sharps Highwaymen, for I felt a little pinprick._
  *         _Shall we travel to Lowtown together (if thou understand’est what I doth propose)?_
  *         _You know what they say about Dusters: they’re casteless hooligans with no manners. But the sex is good._



 

***

 

 

Isabela peered through the haze and smoke of the Hanged Man until she spotted the silhouettes of Varric and Merill at their usual table by the hearth. Varric knew the reason for their celebration tonight—she’d turned in her final column and been freed of the _Dowager_ forever—but she’d not breathed a word to the elf when she’d invited her. She returned Merill’s enthusiastic gesturing with a small wave and began to wend her way through the tables and overturned chairs. She stopped short as she approached the table and caught a glimpse of golden hair in the flickering firelight.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “I thought you didn’t drink. Or come outside, really.”

Anders glanced up sullenly from the mug he was nursing. “It’s tea,” he muttered.

“Blondie had a bit of a rough night last night,” Varric added, giving Isabela a warning look. “He’s just looking for some company.”

“He was with Hawke,” Merill chirped.

“Have you two finally gotten it over with and fucked each other rotten on that cot of yours?” Isabela asked as she slouched into a seat across the table from the mage. “It’s long overdue.”

“How do you know?” Merill pitched her voice so only Isabela could hear. “Do humans keep a calendar somewhere?”

“It’s not like that with her,” Anders said a little too forcefully. He paused, his mouth contracting into a stiff frown. “I’m actually not sure what it’s like with her anymore.”

Varric shot Isabela a look fraught with anxiety. “What?” she asked the dwarf. When he didn’t respond, she turned to Anders: “What do you mean?”

Anders swirled his tea, watching the leaves spiral in the bottom of the cup in silence.

“He said the two of them were alone together last night,” Merill piped up.

“Well, even if there wasn’t any nudity, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“No, not ‘good’—the complete opposite of that, in fact,” Anders moaned.

“That bad?” Varric signaled to a passing waitress to bring another drink. Isabela motioned to herself on the sly, hoping she’d add it onto Varric’s tab without him noticing. “What’d you do?”

“I bet it’s something exciting.”

Anders’ eyes glinted in the firelight as he fixed a narrow gaze on the elf. “I don’t know that I should say in present company.”

“Oh, come on, Blondie.” Varric gave him a playful shove on the shoulder. “You never know, we might have some good advice—isn’t that right, Isabela?”

The waitress returned, dropping a mugful of ale in front of both her and the dwarf. She grinned and shrugged at his questioning look.

Anders regarded the pair for a moment, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “You well know I’m not one to share my secrets, but it’s just — you two are close to Hawke and might have heard her speak of her…intentions.”

“Of course, veritable fount of knowledge here. Go on,” Isabela urged the mage.

Anders regarded their all-too-eager expressions with distaste curling his lip; however, after a moment, he sighed, “Oh, fine. But you—” he jabbed a finger at Merill “—mustn’t say a word to her.”

Merill was too busy gulping down her watered wine to respond.

“We were alone in the clinic last night,” he began. “She normally brings me something to eat when I work late, and we started talking as I closed up shop. It’s — well, it’s no secret by now that I…feel something for her.” A flush crept across his cheeks, stark against his pallor. “I thought it felt _right_ to try to kiss her that night, right there in the clinic.” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “I — you know, moved in, but halfway there I lost my nerve. We stood there for a moment while I tried to think of anything to say, and then—”

“And then?”

Isabela could see the muscles in Anders’ jaw twitch just under the skin, as if he couldn’t force his mouth to form the words. Finally, he spat, “She called me an abomination.”

“No!”

“She _what_?”

“Were those the _exact_ words she used?” Varric asked cautiously.

“Well, she said I was — I don’t know, some sort of demon that would leave her body to rot while I trapped her for an eternity in the Fade.” Anders shook his head, his brows knitted in confusion. “The intent seemed clear enough.”

Isabela felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. “Surely, we’re just missing some context here. Did she say anything else?”

“She then said that we should go to Lowtown, or Dust Town, or maybe Par Vollen. She kind of just — read an itinerary or something. And then, when I didn’t answer, she said, ‘ _If you know what I mean_.’ Was I — was I _supposed_ to know what that means? Is your brother planning another expedition?” he asked the dwarf.

“Is that what you humans are calling courtship now?” Merill asked, blotting wine from the corner of her mouth.

“I should certainly think not,” Anders snapped.

“Well, you know, you _have_ been underground for quite a while,” Varric added.

“Andraste’s tits,” Isabela cut in, head in her hands. “No, no one is calling it that.”

“When I said I didn’t understand, she called me something, er, very vile.” The blush across Anders’ nose blazed a lurid red. “Some slur about an ogre’s ‘parts.’”

“Well, shit,” Varric breathed.

Isabela pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “Was it ‘throbbing monsterhood?’”

Anders shook his head in confusion. “I — I’m not really sure; it was a bit rushed. After that, she left—well, ‘stormed out’ might be a more accurate way to put it.” He turned his gaze to Isabela and then to Varric, his eyes dark and narrowed as if in pain. “She knows how I feel about her; maybe she knew what I intended that night, too. I had thought maybe what happened was some attempt of hers to put me off gently—to make a joke of it before I confessed my true feelings.” He sighed. “I came to ask you for the truth. I _have_ told her to stay away from me; maybe she finally listened,” he said softly, then took a deep draught of tea to hide his grimace.

“No,” Merill said with a shake of her head, “I know that can’t be right. She certainly likes you.”

“You deduced that from the ‘ogre cock’ comment, did you?” Anders sneered. “Truly, the wonders of blood magic.”

“Maybe she wants one as a gift. It’d make a fabulous cudgel,” Merill stated matter-of-factly.

“Hawke, we need to work on your memorization skills,” Isabela muttered to herself. “Anders, listen, Hawke’s an utter tit but she still fancies you. She was trying pick-up lines on you.”

“She was telling you she thinks you’re good-looking—in her own _very_ unique way,” Varric added.

“That doesn’t explain why she called me those things,” Anders said warily.

“We—” Isabela and the dwarf shared a guilty look “—might have given her some bad advice.”

“If what she said last night at all resembles the advice you gave, then I should certainly say so.” Anders massaged his temples. “A part of me hoped she had finally heeded my warnings, while another part hoped     ….” He trailed off, his hands upturned towards the dwarf and the pirate as if begging for alms. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. She’s too furious or—I don’t know, embarrassed—to even speak to me. I’ve been by the estate but got nothing but ‘Enchantment?’ when I knocked.” He shook his head. “I can’t even talk to her about how she feels now.”

“Look, we’ll set Hawke right,” Varric said, clapping a hand on the mage’s feathered shoulder, “so she can come tell you herself. Right, Isabela?”

“Maker, I don’t know how, but yes.” Isabela threw her head back and gulped down the last of her drink in three swallows.

 

***

**_BEAUTY AND THE BERRIC_ **

_Berric was a comely dwarf, thick of both chest and chest hair. The hair on his head was as golden as freshly poured Chasind Sack Mead, and his eyes gleamed with all the intelligence of the Ancestors. He was tall for a dwarf—tall enough to make proficient love to any human woman without it being bad or awkward, should he so desire, but he didn’t, despite many a desperate plea from bar wenc [A large ink blot and many scribbled lines, as if the quill had been traded back and forth in rapid succession, render the middle passages unreadable.]_

_ut I’m a VERY strange little man,” Berric proclaimed for all the world to hear, though they were already well aware. “Bianca,” he moaned as he fell to his knees and cursed the Maker. “Bianca, why could your genius artificer not just carve you some nice round breas [Another blot obscures the text.]_

_could not possibly even think one bit about such a silly thing as that while pleasuring those hordes of [Unreadable.]_

_“Biancaaaaa,” he moaned, fondling the crossbow as passionately as one caressing a virgin’s rosy teat. “My weird love, whom I cuddle with every night! I’m in luck, for I’ve just remembered I fashioned you a rather snug quive [The page has been singed and cannot be restored.]_

****

**_SEX AFTER 162: ADVICE FROM ANCIENT ARLATHAN_ **

_You’re never too old for a pair of undergarments as thin and tenuous as the Viscount’s control of the Qunari menace! We sat down with Arianni, the fearless and feisty Keeper, in her aravel to discuss tips and tricks from the elven elders. Here’s what the vivacious camp leader had to say:_

_“_ Ar tu na'din _,_ len'alas lath'din _.”_

Randy Dowager _experts have worked tirelessly to translate the woman’s audacious advice for our readers and have reported that she had this to say:_

 _“I find that_ Randy Dowager _-brand perfume is one of the most pungent aphrodisiacs to be found in all of Thedas. I can purchase it at many merchants’ stalls across Kirkwall for a very affordable price. Surely, our most wise ancestors would recommend such a fine piece of merchandise!”_

 

***

 

“Right, you sent for me. What’s going on?” Hawke folded her arms across her chest. “More bandits to stab? Please tell me there are more bandits to stab.”

“Nothing’s going on, Hawke.” Isabela dealt a hand of cards and plunked the remainder face-down onto the table. “I just wanted to catch up.”

“You mean…no stabbing? Well, that’s a severe disappointment.” Hawke flopped into a chair opposite with a harrumph.

“A pleasure to see you too.”

“Oh, all right.” Hawke slid her hand off the face of the table and picked through her cards, brow furrowed in concentration. “I suppose it’d be good to just sit back and relax somewhere where I can’t hear Gamlen farting in the next room.”

“Of course!” Isabela picked and sorted her cards with a flash of her fingers. “And what better way to relax,” she added, perhaps a tad too brightly, “than doing a bit of girl talk?”

“‘Girl talk?’” Hawke’s eyes were incredulous over the line of her cards.

“Yes, you know, chatting about nail lacquer, swapping tips on how to get the smell of blood out of your hair after a battle—that sort of thing. It’ll be _fun_ ,” Isabela stressed as Hawke arched an eyebrow.

“Is this just your way of inviting me to your bed again?”

“Absolutely not this time.” Isabela paused. “Unless you’re interested?”

Hawke smirked. “I wouldn’t want to make your boyfriends jealous, now would I?”

“Now, see, _that’s_ a decent line,” Isabela found herself saying before she could stop herself.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing.” Isabela flipped out a five of nugs. “So — speaking of boyfriends,” she continued after a pause in which Hawke had already managed to lose two rounds, “are you interested in anyone?”

“Oh, Maker, not you too.” Hawke threw down her cards in disgust. Shame, really; Isabela couldn’t help but notice that she’d had a great hand. She wasn’t about to point it out. “Ever since Mother found out Carver’s been to the Rose, I’ve heard nothing but how I need ‘think of the family’ and settle down with a stable man.”

“Oh, kitten, mine is a purely prurient interest—nothing at all to do with carrying on ancestral lines.” She smirked. “Surely there’s been someone to catch your oh-so discerning eye over the years? Or shall you be getting his-and-hers confessional booths with the choir boy?”

“Isabela….”

“Sebastian would be _thrilled_. Just think: you could coordinate the upholstery on the kneelers.”

Hawke snorted as she pushed her chair away. “This is my cue to head home.”

“Oh, come on, if you leave now, I’ll just have to assume it’s Varric,” she teased. “I hear there’s a fan club of sorts that meets in the Courtyard to share stories they’ve written about his books.”

“Does he know? Maker, no wonder he keeps writing those horrid romances.” Hawke slouched back into her chair. After a moment, she continued hesitantly: “All right, if you absolutely _must_ know, I — _might_ — have had a bit of a thing for an apostate, once.”

“Ooh, Anders, then. Broody and blond is a fine choice.” Isabela leaned in on her elbows conspiratorially. “And have you two…?”

Hawke’s mouth curled into a frown. “No.”

“What? Are you not even a _little_ bit curious about that electricity thing he can do?”

“It’s not that, it’s—” Hawke sighed and rubbed the back of her neck abashedly. “He’s not interested. I tried, but he just turned me down.”

Isabela raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. “Really? That doesn’t sound like him.”

“I all but threw myself at him! I said that I wanted him, right there and then, only for him to refuse.” She folded her arms across her chest and sneered; after a moment, however, her expression wilted into one much softer and sadder. “So that’s out, then.”

“Men can be such idiots about these things,” Isabela said, shuffling the deck absently. “Anything less than a hand down their pants can be too subtle—and even then, some don’t get the hint. When you propositioned him, did you use those _exact_ words? ‘I want you’ and so on?”

“Well, not exactly.” Hawke waved a hand dismissively. “I felt like the whole Justice situation needed a bit more finesse than that. I got some advice on some things to say to him from a…well, an expert of sorts. I might have flubbed a few of the lines, but _no one—” s_ he jabbed her finger into the tabletop to emphasize each word “—could’ve mistaken the message I was sending.”

“Of course.” Isabela bit the insides of her cheeks until she tasted blood to keep herself from laughing. In her most serious voice, she asked, “Did this ‘expert’ also advise you to slobber like a Genlock in bed?”

Hawke flushed but met Isabela’s gaze with her chin quirked in defiance. “Why? Where would you get that idea?” Her eyes flicked to the side, then back again. “How do _you_ know what’s in that pamphlet? Have you been going through my mail _again_?”

“No, of course not! Not recently. But that’s besides the point, Hawke. _Why_ are you turning to some so-called ‘expert’ for things to say to Anders, anyway? You _know_ how to seduce someone. You could’ve charmed the pants off me four times today alone—if I hadn’t already had outstanding public nudity fines on my record, of course.”

“I know, I know, it was foolish. It’s just—” Hawke sighed, then continued in a soft voice, “It’s harder to find the right thing to say when it’s someone who feels really… _important_ to you, you know?”

“I don’t know at all, actually. I’m the love ‘em and toss ‘em overboard sort.” Isabela winked, then resumed with a more serious tone: “Listen, Hawke: forget that know-nothing old hag; _I’ll_ give you some expert advice without you having to pay a single copper. Just go meet Anders in the clinic. Tell him you’re not there to discuss Section 4.2 Sub-bloody-paragraph C of his manifesto; you’re there for _him_. Tell him that you’re crazy for him and that he needs to kiss you. There’s no way for him to mistake your meaning, then. And after that—well, hopefully you’ve read enough of those trashy pamphlets to figure out what comes next.”

“A piping hot cup of tea and an early goodnight? I’m joking,” Hawke added when Isabela gave a grunt of disgust. “All right.” She slapped her hands on the tops of her thighs and heaved herself out of her seat. “I’m going to do it. I’m doing it. I—ugh, Isabela, what if I forget what to say and mess it all up again?”

Isabela slipped a flask with one last pull of whiskey in it from a holster belted at the top of her thigh. She’d been nipping at the flask the last few days while she didn’t have the coin for a proper night of boozing and hated to part with it now, but Hawke’s attempts at flirting were just dire enough to call for it. She tossed the flask to Hawke; it sloshed as she swiped it out of the air. “Here. This will be enough to see you through without making you vomit all over his boots.”

“Your emergency stash,” Hawke said reverently, then unscrewed the lid and tipped the flask back into her mouth. After two chugs, she pulled away with a grimace. “ _Maker_. You could peel the paint from the walls with that.”

“ _That_ is the secret to Varric’s lustrous chest hair,” Isabela said, “as well as your newfound courage.”

Hawke laughed and tossed the empty flask back to Isabela with a sarcastic salute. “Right, I’m off to put the lusty pirate’s patented seduction tips into practice.”

“Maker be with you.” Isabela nodded over her hands pressed together like a Chantry Sister and smirked. “Oh, and Hawke? If all else fails—” She pantomimed unbuckling the fastenings along the front of her breastplate. “Men always understand nudity.”

“Noted. Thank you, Isabela.” Hawke waved as she turned to go. After a moment’s hesitation, she spun around and pulled a leather pouch from her hip. “Before I forget—” She fished out a gold coin and slid it across the tabletop into Isabela’s anxious grasp. “Drinks are on me for a while.”


End file.
